


Lightning Wind, Living Fire

by Im_The_Doctor (Bofur1)



Series: The Pacemakers [11]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bittersweet, Cross-cultural, Cultural Differences, Explanations, Flash Fic, Getting to Know Each Other, Humility, Post-Battle, Pre-Earth Transformers, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:24:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8185559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Im_The_Doctor
Summary: Of all Bots to seek him out in the early days of the war, when most of them still don't know each other well enough to care, Brawn never would have expected the new Prime and his most trusted officers.   (Transformers Flash Fic Challenge, 4/4 Fulfilled)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Bofur1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1) in the [TF_Flash_Challenge](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TF_Flash_Challenge) collection. 



> Pace - A company or herd of mules; in my headcanon, a family of Minibots; also a traditional expectation and an honor among Minibots who form one.
> 
> Culumexian - the form of Cybertronian spoken by residents of Culumex, the Minibot city on Cybertron, or the residents themselves
> 
> Verriese - a larger-frame bot, an "outsider" to Culumex

“Ah, Brawn…how are you doing?”

With little interest, Brawn glanced up from the blaster he was cleaning to see which of the **verriesen** had spoken, only to nearly drop the weapon when he saw it was the Prime. He pushed the blaster aside, hastily inclining his helm.

“Well, Prime, thank you.” He could feel his core temperature churning higher at how irreverent the words sounded, so he lowered his optics. “You don’t need to be concerned for my wellbeing, Messenger.”

Though Brawn could barely bring himself to look up at the larger Autobot, he did just in time to see that he had startled him. Still Optimus recovered himself well and sat down next to him, patting his shoulder.

“I’m concerned for _all_ of my comrades after a battle,” Optimus replied kindly. “And I want to learn more about you; there’s so much that I don’t know about Culumexian customs—such as your term for me, ‘Messenger’.” Noticing how distracted Brawn was by the hand on his shoulder, he withdrew it and folded it with the other. “But I suppose you can tell me about that another time.”

“I’m willing to tell you whatever you want to hear,” Brawn admitted, trying not to sound _too_ awestruck by the surreal fact that the Prime, the Messenger of Primus himself, was _interested_ in him and his culture.

“In that case, I wouldn’t mind knowing what you shouted during the battle,” Optimus began. “It sounded like your home Tongue, and your pack said it with you—”

“My _pace_ ,” Brawn corrected without a thought, belatedly resisting the urge to cringe at how he’d interrupted. “I’m sorry, Prime, but it’s…in Common Cybertronian, it’s ‘pace.’”

“I’m sorry,” Optimus echoed back, EM field flickering in guarded surprise. “My mistake.” There was a beat of wary silence and then the larger mech chuckled sheepishly. “You see, this is why I’m asking to know more. I still have a lot to learn about the Bots I’m leading.”

“Not at all,” Brawn assured him hurriedly. “You’re doing just fine for someone who only became the Chosen Messenger a few vorns ago!”

“Well, thank you.”

Lightly drumming his fingers on the bench, Brawn added, “As for what my pace and I said, it was a battle cry— **::Fy wio ucyigde!::** It means ‘For those unplaced’.” Sobering, he shook his helm minutely and muttered, “The Culumexians who don’t have a pace need someone to fight for them and if it has to be us, then it _better_ be us.”

“You fight for the young ones?”

“Not just for them,” Brawn sighed, glancing at Optimus with a bitter grimace. “Not many paces are lucky enough to still be…intact. Primus blessed me by sparing mine; I suppose He knew whose side we were going to be on.”

Optimus considered this for several minutes before commenting, “It’s an honor to fight with you, then.”

Stunned speechless but not unmoved, Brawn lightly crisscrossed his arms over his chest in a respectful Culumexian salute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt here was the quote "Awake iron!" and when I did some research, it turns out it's an old battle cry. For my bulky little fighter here, a prompt for a battle cry was perfect. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Brawn figured he was in trouble as soon as he saw a familiar **verriese** police officer standing in his doorway. The last time he’d seen Prowl’s doorwings under such tight control, Windcharger was being arrested. Dropping from his tensed position, the pace-leader put the object of Prowl’s disdainful stare into standby.

“Can I help you?” he asked, adding, “Sir?” as an afterthought.

“I would appreciate it if, tomorrow night, you wouldn’t blast your datatrax so concussively,” Prowl sighed.

“Were you recharging?” Brawn countered bluntly. Prowl hesitated and Brawn nodded, his suspicions confirmed. “Sir, you have your ways of burning the nighttime oil and I have mine.”

“Listening to recordings of explosions doesn’t seem particularly…” Prowl seemed to search for a tactful word. “…practical. What good does it do you?”

“Explosions?” Brawn echoed, folding his arms and taking a few steps back, putting up an air of bewilderment. He should have known this would happen; he just needed to tread lightly instead of getting defensive; this was the SIC he was talking to, after all. “Who said anything about explosions? That wasn’t what I was playing at all.”

Prowl’s doorwings perked lightly, cautiously curious, and he narrowed his optics, shifting a few more inches into the room. “What was it, then?”

Forcing a laugh, Brawn shook his helm. “I have datatrax that play _music_ , y’know. In Culumex we have…” He paused, optics flickering toward the floor for a nanoklik before he amended, “…We _had_ genres, just like you Bulks. What I was playing is just a few. Whatever you may think, we have a dance culture!”

The Praxian hummed thoughtfully, processing this for a minute before questioning, “Is it a private dance culture or are outsiders allowed to watch? Optimus has brought several cultures together and it would be in our best interests if we…mingled.”

Brawn huffed lightly, but he found he was grinning. “You sayin’ we should compare moves?” Prowl half-shrugged and Brawn considered, glancing past him at the hallway to be sure no one was spying. “Alright, come on in so the door shuts. You can show me how to balance on my struts like a graceful little Lilleth, but before you do, I can show you how to _really_ roll your components!”

Prowl smiled in return—a rare occurrence, Brawn understood—and stood back as the Culumexian put on one of his favorite datatrax, one which came with a lot of memories. Rolling his shoulders back and putting on a brave front, he slid his right foot carefully back and forth before using it as leverage and launching himself forward, planting the left foot and pivoting several times over. His arms rolled independently yet in perfect sync with each other, sweeping, reaching, summoning something that wasn’t coming. The base tones pounded more urgently and his feet followed suit, kicking the air, storming the ground, staggered between spark-beats.

He had learned this dance in Culumex, where it was _meant_ to be done. Guilt and grief struck; he fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt here was "Music to my ears" and I figured I should share with my readers just a taste of my headcanons for Minibot dance. I figure most of their songs are concussive and tribal, but there are some that are meant to tell a story or accomplish something. The one Brawn was doing tells the story of a lost love; in his case, his lost love is his home.


	3. Chapter 3

“Wow, look at all o’ those stars, man!”

Brawn managed a tight smile at his senior officer but opted _not_ to look. The idea of glancing out the window made him feel ill. Jazz didn’t seem to notice his discomfort and Brawn was grateful for small mercies.

Why had he been chosen for this mission? He was glad to be on it if it meant busting up some Decepticons—Soundwave was his target of choice—but he didn’t like this part: it was just him and Jazz, in a shuttle which seemed very small in a vast emptiness.

“You doin’ alright, Big Bad?” (Brawn had originally disliked that nickname, thinking Jazz said that scornfully, until he’d heard the officers’ monikers, such as “Prowler” and “Rawhide”.)

“I’m fine, Jazz,” he sighed, glancing at the saboteur. He could see the stars in his peripheral vision and didn’t turn his helm any further.

“So tell me why your optics’re lookin’ a little peaky,” Jazz countered, loosely folding his arms and leaning against the shuttle wall.

Brawn grunted, hoping he sounded noncommittal. “I’m not much of a stargazer, that’s all.” He found a change of subject in Jazz’s face. “But _you_ are, aren’t you? Wouldn’t stargazing be easier without that visor?”

Jazz chuckled a little and then clicked his tongue. “I know everyone’s curious about what’s behind this—” He tapped the edge of the visor with a clink. “—but I won’t be tricked _that_ easily into takin’ it off! An’ besides, stargazin’ is more fun with my visor on.” Jazz returned his hidden gaze to the window. “It adds another layer of perspective.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jazz tilted his helm, staying quiet for a minute before crossing the distance in two short strides, pulling Brawn out of his seat.

Flustered, Brawn tried to tug away; he could if he wanted to, but it would probably result in Jazz getting hurt, so he let Jazz steer him in front of the window. Hissing in discomfort, he shuttered his optics, but then felt something cool and fragile descend over said optics, neatly locking into place.

“Hey!” he snapped. “What are you doing?”

“Look,” Jazz urged from somewhere behind him. Brawn shook his helm with a growl and Jazz huffed. “Really? I have t’give an order?”

Grudgingly Brawn obeyed, venting in terse surprise once he did. Through a silvery-blue tint, he saw the stars, keener and closer than before, their coronas dancing against the dark expanse. “Wh—? They—they look like _sparks!_ ” he gasped.

“Yep. If that doesn’t inspire a little hope, I don’t know what would,” Jazz replied gently. “Sometimes you just gotta see somethin’ with clearer vision t’see how valuable it is. I don’t know what I’d do without the stars.”

As Jazz took the visor away, Brawn blinked a few times. Realizing that he had just a nanoklik’s opportunity, he spun around, hoping to catch a glimpse.

“Ah-ah!” Jazz laughed at him, clicking his visor into place just in time. “Too slow!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I wrote this, I never even realized what a great dynamic these two might have! The prompt here, as you probably know, was "Outer Space". And have I ever mentioned how much I adore Jazz? <3 It was perfect for him.
> 
> Mwahahaha, no one will ever know what lies behind the visor!! Brawn was sooo close, but close is still too slow! >:D


	4. Chapter 4

Brawn had never been afraid of many things; he had always been the one to push the limits, test the rules, win the matches, pass the tests. He had always upheld himself as brave, even chivalrous. Now, however, he was fleeing, and not from any of the Decepticons.

Brawn heard a shout from somewhere behind him and against his will, his feet faltered. He ducked into the nearest empty room, pressing his back against the cool wall. He knew he would be found, but he couldn’t calm his thoughts enough to think of any other hideaway.

After a few minutes, the door slid open and a long shadow loomed. Brawn spun around, holding out a cautioning hand which was stained and smelled of energon. “Stay away,” he warned.

“Y’know I can’t,” Ironhide pointed out as he approached. Brawn ex-vented in a despairing hiss, glancing wildly past him to see if any of his pace-mates had followed. To his relief, none of them were there to see him like this.

“You _need_ to. I don’t trust myself.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Ironhide insisted. “I wanna help you get what just happened.”

“I understand what happened!” Brawn barked, engine revving an ominous growl into his voice before he shuttered his optics, fighting it back. “I’m sorry. There’s…s-something I’ve never told you,” he admitted. “Never told anyone. There’s a side of me I’ve never shown…I keep it in check, but I can’t _control_ it.” Panic roiled through him; this was someone he admired, trusted, but if he opened up much more, he might break. He might break _both_ of them. “Go. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.” It was a thinly veiled threat.

Ironhide shifted his weight warily but didn’t back down. “Listen t’me. You went too far, but y’ _know_ you did. What’re you tryin’ to say?”

“I just—when I’m in the field and I see them, I feel this _rage_ and I can’t hold it in!” Brawn seethed. “It’s always there, rattling around in my mind like it’ll come out any minute. If it does, Ironhide, it’ll _never stop_.” He hesitated, optics flickering up uncertainly to lock with the officer’s. “Am I…on the wrong side?”

At that Ironhide dropped all pretense of caution. “Y’think none of us get that kind of anger?” he demanded in disbelief. “The kind that burns you to the spark, makes you think you’re just as much a monster as the Cons? I’ve lost things t’Megatron too, Brawn! When he laughs at us, there’s nothin’ I’d love more than t’rip him in half an’ burn what’s left. We’re gonna keep feelin’ that, but after the battle we just gotta put it down or it’ll hurt our friends.” Gradually extending a hand, he coaxed, “C’mon…put it down.”

Brawn swallowed hard, realizing how much faith ’Hide had to put in him to give him any choice in the matter. Decided, he clasped the hand so tightly it might break. Ironhide didn’t seem to mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt here was the song [Monster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBeYy8ecjZY) by Skillet, for Halloween Week. I wasn't in the mood to do creepy, but I imagined "Monster" would be a great song for these two warriors; both have been through a lot and haven't gotten through unscathed, but the damage isn't what some would think. Out of all the officers, I suspect Brawn became close with Ironhide the fastest. It was a great study for their characters and how well they would understand each other.
> 
> Depending on how this last chapter is received, I may go beyond the four-chapter minimum and explore Brawn's relationship with all of the officers in turn. What do you guys think?

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly this is still when Brawn is working hard to uphold his people's customs among the Autobots, when he hasn't quite shaken off his suspicions of outsiders and is still pretty formal with them. I'm sure you know that by the time they get to Earth, he's lightened up quite a bit!


End file.
